


Heart in a Headlock

by LittleBlackLily



Category: Plan B (2009)
Genre: Brace yourself, Bruno's thoughts run a mile a minute, F/M, M/M, Slow Burning, inside Bruno's head, it's always easier to lie to yourself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-08-17 05:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8131312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleBlackLily/pseuds/LittleBlackLily
Summary: Bruno has a plan. For revenge. Of course. Yes, that is what he is doing right now, they deserve it, both his cheating ex, and that beautiful bastard... oh damn it. How can someone be so nice that you accidentally (fall in love) I mean, make friends with them, and how can it be this hard to walk away from something like this? He should have done that. Maybe he could have done that, a couple weeks back, but he is not so sure anymore...This story is a multi chapter nosedive into Bruno's sometimes confused, sometimes chaotic thoughts and feelings on the changes, a certain boy brought into his life. Enjoy.





	1. I’m so angry, and no, it’s not desire (except maybe it is)

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you for charlidos, who gave me inspiration, and helped me out with getting into Bruno's head.

Bruno woke up with a gasp, trembling, the air leaving his lungs with a shuddering breath. He reached blindly to the lamp, and switched it on. Oh God. It was so hard. This mess. This love and revenge business. And as it turned out, lust. He dug himself a nice big hole. Well. He intended to dig it for Pablo, he was so angry, and jealous and furious at Laura, and himself, and the whole world, and the new boy, who was so damn pretty, how dare he…

  
He hated him for being with Laura. He believed that she should be back with him. Never mind that he didn’t want her before she hooked up with that pretty boy, never mind that he was never in love, that their relationship was more of a habit, knowing each-other’s bodies well, getting and giving pleasure effortlessly, and not really caring even if he suspected she saw some other guys too, from time to time. Not that he was exclusive. Not that it mattered.

The fire that ignited in him when he saw her with Pablo though… He didn’t understand. It was morbid. It was strong, such a strong feeling that he found himself angry again and again for days whenever it crossed his mind again, that Laura is with him now, they are probably in bed, fucking, or just cuddling and watching a movie together, maybe their taste is closer, and he doesn’t have to compromise, maybe he would gladly watch the stuff she likes…

It was driving him up the wall that he couldn’t stop thinking about them, about _him_. It didn’t make any sense. He wanted to hurt Laura. For betraying him. Only it wasn’t like that. She was never his to begin with, was she? What was even worse, he wanted to hurt Pablo. No, that’s not right. He wanted to know what Pablo had that he didn’t, that made their relationship with Laura work, when Bruno was incapable of keeping her. Of keeping her satisfied. Not bored. His.

He knew he became obsessed with them (him, oh well, _him_ , even if he would barely dare to think it, not even in the silence of his mind, buried, never voiced, hushed, swiped away, never thought, hush), he found himself lurking in places where he knew he would see them. (Him.) It was torture, fuelling his anger, and morbid curiosity, and then one day he got drunk, and when he went home, it all popped into his mind, the plan, as foolish as it was, and he tried to push it away, but his anger flared, and he pretended that was all it was. That was easy. It was safe. It was just jealousy, Laura should be his, she was gorgeous, she was nice, sex with her was easy… ( _she was selfish, she was playing games, they were playing games. always, since the beginning_ ). He wanted to punish her, he wanted to punish him, he will, he will destroy him, get close, and it will be a hit and run, he will laugh so much, he will worm himself under his skin, make him smile that gorgeous smile at him, not at Laura, she doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t…

He knew he was lying to himself. He didn’t particularly want to have a look at it closer, but he felt the lie somewhere under all the anger. He wanted to punch the guy in the face. He wanted to punch Pablo in the face. Only he didn’t. He needed to see what makes him tick. So he wandered down to the same gym he watched him cycle to like … three times last week. He wanted to get a new membership card anyway, he was too lazy to get a new one when the last expired months ago, so what if he tried a new place. He would just take a look. Maybe talk to him a bit, maybe he would calm down, and forget this stupid idea. Maybe he and Laura were good. Maybe she was better to Pablo than she was to him. Maybe she would stop cheating. (oh well that one turned out to be a lie really quick, when he found himself back in her bed, which was infuriating, really, and confusing, as he didn’t know who he was angry with. Himself for getting into this situation, Laura, for cheating on Pablo, and making Bruno care again, after he left her already once… or himself to be the one she was cheating on _him_ with…) because damn Pablo, he turned out to be a nice guy. A really nice guy. A looker, sure, but also easy to smile, easy to talk to, with a taste in tv shows, music, and movies a _lot closer_ to his own than to Laura’s. So much for them being curled up together watching movies… ( _no, not Pablo and him, no tv marathons in the hot summer, curled up, with less clothes than decent, faint smell of sweat, no, never_ ) But he could still picture them, Pablo giving in, indulging Laura and her weird taste anyway. And Bruno was trying to hold onto the anger. He wanted to punish them, remember, punishment, for being cheated, left out ( _don’t lie to yourself, you fool, you didn’t want her, why does it matter, give up, fuck someone else, move on…_ )

It mattered. He only talked to him a couple of times. Watching Blind with him right after the first time they talked, the lie about his broken tv coming off of his tongue so smoothly, the surprise in his eyes, to bump into another fan, the easy conversation… Oh damn it, he should have let it go, really, at that point, the first night, when he could have still get out, when he could still say, okay, I gave it a go, talked to him, he seemed nicer than I thought, maybe I should let them be ( _sitting next to him, hearing his breathing change when the show had drawn to its most exciting parts, noticing his hair pouring down, curling around his face, into his eyes, itching with the feeling that he wants to sweep it away from his eyes, his eyes that would glint and laugh at him when he looked his way, those long lashes, the genuine curiosity and open happiness of finding someone to connect with by chance…_ )

Jesus, he was messed up. But he stomped on logic, stomped on the feeling of uneasiness, that this wouldn’t end well, and pretended it was nothing, that he just made the first step, and this meant the stupid plan would work.

They met again. And again. And he never planned ahead. It was just what it was. They were talking. Bruno genuinely tried to be nice, and he flirted a bit, and they smoked weed in strangely beautiful, abandoned places, they talked about photography, and life, and he forgot to brace himself, to close himself away, it was just a plan, he could make it work. This guy was bi, he slept with a guy, remember, he could easily make him fall for himself, and leave him, and break him, and break Laura, ( _and make him fall for him, and touch him, run his fingers through that shiny dark hair, laugh with him forever, joke around and tell him about Neverland, and just smile at him, be close, oh crap shut up there IS a plan_ ).

He feels lost now though.

He can’t pretend to not feel the storm that’s brewing inside. He is a bit scared. He woke up dreaming about Pablo, his beautiful body - his laugh, his wit, his humour as well - but also his body damn it, close to him, rubbing off on him, his fingers in Bruno’s hair, in his boxers, Pablo going down on him, practically ripping down his boxers, swallowing him, and… yeah okay, now he was painfully hard again.

Jesus.

He tentatively pulled off his boxers. And looked at his hard-on, a bit exasperated.  
He was never shy about sex. It was just not in him. His first time was all faked bravado and courage, but it was enough to score, even if he was only fourteen at the time. He started to get tall, his voice finally closer to a man’s and not breaking all the damn time anymore, his shoulders a bit wider, some light muscles that the girls looked to be fond of. He faked the confidence, and he went home from the party with a sixteen year old girl with a pretty smile, and he remembers the bit of fumbling, and how it all clicked, and how she was nice enough that she pretended as if he was in the driving seat, as if she hadn’t realized after five minutes that she would have to guide him through this. It was nice. Messy, but nice. He decided that he liked sex. Couple more tries and the ladies told him that he was also quite good at it. (He didn’t realize until later that a lot of guys felt it was just an uncomfortable obligation to go down on the ladies. What the hell. They wouldn’t know good sex if it hit them in the face.) He was also kinda smug about it. To know that he was good. It was easy. It was instinct. It was getting off, and getting her off. He liked it. For the whole of high school it was like his mission to get as many girls happy as he could. Got some enemies. Got some pretty good memories too.

But it was never a problem. If there was no one, he would just rub himself off, he had enough memories to last him for a couple more decades if needed. It was nicer to push into a girl’s tight wet heat, feel her gasps in his neck, her nails on his back. But it was okay to just wank, and give in to the quick pleasure, treating himself, knowing what’s the easiest way, or how to draw it out longer if he was in the mood.

He was never embarrassed. About sex. About his body.

But now he just stared down at his dick and looked with disbelieving eyes. He was hard, thinking – dreaming – about a boy. A man, damn it. This is messed up. It should have made him disgusted. Or scared. Repulsed, or anything. But no. This was what it was. He thought about those dark eyes, that hair, how he wanted to twirl his locks around his fingers, guide him down, down…

Jesus.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

He didn’t even touch himself, but just thinking about that _beautiful_ bastard made him painfully close to the edge, and as he looked down on himself again, his fingers splayed on his thighs still not touching, painfully aroused, fascinated, and a little scared maybe… He watched as his cock twitched, a small drop of precome appearing and slowly stretching towards his belly. He groaned.  
Okay. This was nothing different. Just a wank. He desperately needed it. So what. Nothing curious. Everything as usual. He gripped himself, and started to stroke in his usual rhythm. It was kinda too dry, but he run out of lube a couple weeks ago, and he just couldn’t be bothered to replace it. He brought his hand up to his mouth and licked it with broad licks, trying to make it better, and quick, then he was back at it, better, good, oh so good. Tight, wet, rhythm. Concentrate on the physics. It was good. The pressure slowly building, but just shy of enough. His eyes closed. Pablo appeared, smirking, and he swiped it away quickly, forcefully remembering Laura’s sweet curves, her wicked smile, her gorgeous hair, swiping his shoulders as she was riding him… but it didn’t last. Her face faded into disinterested grimace, and she was sneering at him over some trivial shit, not in bed anymore, and he almost lost his interest then and there. He sighed, opened his eyes, and just looked at the ceiling for a minute. Wow, she was a bitch even in his fantasy. Brilliant. Now he just prepared himself to take a cold shower instead.

But when he closed his eyes again, rubbing at his temples to decide if it was maybe worth it to cue up some porn, just to finish this… suddenly he couldn’t stop himself picturing Laura again, but this time turning away, and throwing herself into _his_ arms instead. He was fucking her, strong, but gentle somehow, making her utter those keening noises, that Bruno still remembered from when it was still all new and interesting and good between them… And they looked so damn good, so infuriating, he wanted to explode, he wanted to fuck her, but oh god he wanted to wipe that smile off _his_ face twice as much. Probably with his tongue. He wanted to kiss him so hard that he would forget how to breath, he wanted to push him up the wall – figuratively, and literally, push his thighs between Pablo’s, make him breathless, make him stop caring about her, make him hot and bothered, make him high on his kisses, learn how to make him shatter.

His fist was pumping fast now, his breathing getting laboured. Laura disappeared. He didn’t give a damn anymore. In his mind’s eye he devoured Pablo’s lips, he was gripping at his hair, biting at his neck, rubbing himself at him, biting, wanting more, and this Pablo was a fighter, scratching, and biting, and giving as much as he did, both pleasure and pain, and oh god.

A gasp and he was gone. Leaned back to his pillows he was trying to catch his breath. Well, this felt powerful. He made a mess of the bed too. As he came down from the high, he fished around next to the bed blindly, and he found a discarded t-shirt that he used for a cursory clean up – his stomach, and the sheets all around him on his left. Oh well.  
He needed a shower. Probably. He just wanted to breathe a little longer, he will go in a minute. He closed his eyes. It was too soon after his orgasm to care. Hormones or what not. He felt like drifting back to sleep. He was seeing Pablo again, and at the moment he didn’t give a damn. He saw him lying next to him, half naked, almost as the last time he slept over at his, sharing a bed… Only this time he imagined a bit of an afterglow, as if he just got off. Like he just dozed off after sex. His mind contributed the fact that it wouldn’t have been that weird if maybe, perhaps, it would have been Bruno that got him off. What. He just came thinking about this guy. He just spent the last couple of weeks trying to court him. But that was supposed to be just for… fun? No that was not it. Revenge. Punishment. He felt like laughing. It was never quite like that, was it?

If he were an asshole, maybe. That stupid plan… He never counted on Pablo being nice to be around, nice to have as a friend. ( _and smelling nice, being nice to wake up next to in the middle of the night, when he would just smile, turn to the other side and fall back asleep, being aware of his closeness._ )  
What the hell just happened?

He felt himself drifting off, and he knew he didn’t have the computing power to make sense of any of this right now. He remembered to switch the lamp off, and then curled around himself, and felt around blindly for the pillow that was on the other side of the bed. Pablo slept here only once, for a short siesta. About a week ago. He drew the pillow closer, and stopped pretending that he didn’t want to smell it, to draw it closer, to maybe catch a whiff of his cologne (probably just imagined at this point anyway).

He drifted off to sleep with a soft smile on his face.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Imogen Heap's Headlock.
> 
> I need to state, I loooove comments, I actually love critical comments too.  
> Also if you see any mistakes, please point them out to me :) I would be grateful, and I definitely don't bite.


	2. In the Cold Light of Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... and in the morning everything looks a bit different.

Okay. So he had a problem.

Bruno sat up, and scratched at his skin a bit irritated, as he realized he didn’t really manage to clean up everything after his impromptu wank session, and the dried spunk wasn’t really a nice feeling.

He looked at the pillow which was still half under his face, and angrily chucked it at the wall.

He groaned, and stretched his stiff muscles. He decided to go for a shower. He stepped out of his somewhat sticky boxer, and left it on the floor as he stepped under the spray of water. He turned his face upward, basking in the feeling of the water drumming softly on his body. He tried hard to clear his mind, and just enjoy the shower, without thinking.

He was more or less successful, he squashed his thoughts about Laura, and Pablo, and the soft panic that was curling in his belly for a moment, and then let himself think about breakfast, cataloguing what he had left in his kitchen. Maybe a bowl worth of cereals, probably some milk in the fridge too. Some fruit. But later he would have to go around to the corner shop to grab at least some bread and cheese or something.

He calmed down, the everydayness of these thoughts putting him back at ease. Nothing changed, nothing’s different. He closed off the water, and grabbed the closest towel – he should really remember to put this one in the hamper, he wanted to wash it since last week, never mind.

He dried up, blinked at his battered reflection, carded his fingers through his wet curls, shrugged as it didn’t help – never had – and curling the towel around his waist, went to look for that breakfast.

He already finished with the bowl of cereal, and was currently drinking his second coffee, and smoking probably his third cigarette of the day, looking out the window, watching the sky, thinking about how he now knew what exposition time he would need in this light, and what else should he adjust to make a decent photo.

He was never interested in that kind of thing. Well, never before.

He dragged in a big puff of smoke, and exhaled it slowly, looking at it as it was swirling just in front of him. He had a problem. He was not really sure what was going on, but he had a dreadful feeling that he is losing his footing here. That he took more than he could swallow. That he pushed something that is already teetering on the edge, and he is on the brink of breaking some kind of balance. Because damn it there _was_ a balance between him and Pablo, that was so natural, that he was reminded of the easy friendships of kindergarten and whatnot. When you just came up to a guy, who seemed nice enough, said, hey, this is my new car, you wanna try it? You wanna be my friend? And it worked. For a while. What was flooring him, is that it worked just as magically between them. He only started that first conversation about Blind as an offhand chance that maybe he would learn a bit more about the guy, and in the long run, if they bumped into each other enough times at the gym, maybe they could hang out or something.

Only it turned out, that it was real fast, real deep. He didn’t remember the last time he hit it off with anyone this quick. It just clicked. He enjoyed watching that show with him. It was nice, and comfortable, and the next time they met, they just talked, and conspired about what is coming next, and shared their theories about what the other crazy stuff might mean in this last season… and he completely forgot about the plan. It was 6am, dawning slowly, and they were still out, smoking, and then fooling around with the camera, and then he remembered. Pablo was suddenly quite close, not shying away from bumping shoulders as he showed him the pictures, and he suddenly remembered. He felt smug, that he could make it work, that he already wormed himself this close to him, after only knowing him officially for a couple of days…

If he was honest with himself, it was like that from then on. He was losing his perspective from time to time, forgetting the goal, and just… quite simply enjoyed the time he spent with his new friend.

Then it would click, and he’d do something to make sure, the plan is still on, he would touch him a tiny bit longer than necessary, kiss him on a dare, but he would also look at him while he slept, and lose his shirt around him a lot more than strictly necessary… At those times he was trying to push away that tight feeling he got sometimes when watching Pablo. He didn’t want to have a close look at the why…

And now he was here, and he had a problem. He jacked off thinking about the guy last night. He woke up dreaming about him. And that was not the biggest problem. Because oh well. Who the fuck doesn’t have wet dreams? But… He _was_ a friend now. And this could get awkward.

This could get awkward in a lot of different ways actually. He stabbed out the cigarette, and gave in with a bit of dread to this train of thoughts. He was not sure he would like what he found at the end.

Probably the easiest would be to just… stop seeing him. Give up the plan. Leave them alone. Because he was not sure he wanted to hurt him anymore. ( _actually he was pretty sure he didn’t want to hurt him_ ) Which was in itself another problem. He liked the guy. Of course, he had Victor, he knew that he would have him even when they were sixty, but they were like the old couples, together in their strange friendship for too long to grow apart, even if they grew up to have kinda different tastes, and all. They had the same job, and their history. But their talks never inspired him how Pablo did. It never pushed him to be more bold, be more funny, to come up with a new idea every time.

So he really doesn’t want to give that up. It would be nice to be friends. Only he fucked that up. By conspiring against him from the beginning. Because if – or probably more accurately when – the shit hits the fan, Pablo would probably want nothing to do with him.

And that made Bruno angry. Angry at himself, angry at Laura, angry at the whole world, angry at his stupid stupid idea. If he had just talked to the guy in the gym without being the vindictive little fuck he has been, now he would have a good friend. And probably Laura would still be really angry when she realized, Pablo splits his time between her and spending it with Bruno, watching movies at his place at least twice a week now, but… He could have feigned ignorance, that he didn’t know, and he would still have Pablo in the end.

The idea that the new season of Blind is coming out in two months and probably he would have to watch it alone made his skin crawl. But it was inevitable. Now more than ever. He should just leave, before Pablo realizes what is really going on here. That he was trying to seduce him. That he was lying. That he was trying to hurt him.

Because he didn’t want that anymore.

Oh no. Absolutely not. The other problem was though, that somewhere along the line everything just blurred together, and now he had stuff like these wet dreams too. Okay. Pablo was gorgeous, who was he kidding. He was never joking when he told Laura that he was the more handsome out of the two of them. He never _really_ looked at guys. It never _really_ bothered him, when other people did though, and he was kinda puzzled by it now, but not that shaken. It was just really unfortunate. It complicated everything. If  he quit now, and try to be just friends, it would end bad one way or another, Laura finding out, and accusing him of meddling with them, having an agenda in befriending him – no, she wouldn’t guess the real plan. She is imaginative, but not that much. And the problem is, Bruno is not sure, what Pablo would do. He was pretty much convinced that Bruno’s friendship wouldn’t measure up to Laura and what they have, especially when he learns about their previous involvement and all.

So he would lose him as a friend. But the bigger question was, what the fuck is going on in Bruno’s head, when he forgets about the plan more than not, and _still_ he’s touching him more and more. Laughing with him more and more. Standing or sitting close to him, smiling, and sharing some stuff that he would have thought too deep to just share that easily, except it’s not.

There is the friendship.

But there is also the physicality of it all.

That fucking kiss when Ana and Javier was crashing at his place a couple nights ago. His idiotic excuse, so flimsy, so bad, urging on Ana to dare them, and still Pablo, sweet, drunk and pliable Pablo bought it. Or rather, even if he knew, he went along with it anyway, and that thought was burning him from the inside out. He even had a half-formed plan to ask him to kiss him again, a ruse, maybe that he needed it for a casting for a play, or a commercial or something.

The problem was, that he might be doing these seducing stuff just a bit too naturally now. The bigger problem being that even if he managed to wrap his head around what that really meant… He had no chance. No chance whatsoever to find out where this leads. Because he started this mess with ill intent, so he would never get to see it through.

And we are back to square one.

If he doesn’t leave him now, this would be a mess, and soon.

Only he doesn’t want to.

His head thumped on the table. Fuck. This whole mess didn’t make sense anymore. Except it kinda did. It just… hard to accept that he stopped playing his part, and somewhere along the line maybe started to be a bit too honest about the flirting too. About how he enjoyed being in the closeness, in that bubble of shared joy with Pablo. How, when he first time woke up with his arm around him at that time they all slept over, his first drowsy reaction was _how nice he smelled_ , and just the second to draw away, when he sobered up, and realized, he is practically cuddling with _a guy._

How he really really didn’t mind the tingling feeling with that mocking kiss. How they both played it off as doing it for Ana, but how the air felt heavy between them after that.

There’s no way… There’s no way that this is real. It must have been an illusion. He is just paying for trying to fuck with Pablo’s mind. Or is he?

Oh God. This is just too big of a mess to handle.

He was contemplating starting to drink to ease his mind, but he decided against it, as it was only 10 am still. Second best idea: call Victor, and arrange something for the evening at least.

Maybe Victor could help.

At this point he really hoped he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like sunday mornings can work as update time for now. I have a couple chapters ready, and if my muse kisses me on the forhead again, I might make it twice a week.  
> (*Lily setteles down to watch the movie again, to spread the love to another friend, and to get more inspiration*)
> 
> Comments = cookies and hearts.


	3. Someone who understands (more than you think)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When in doubt, talk it through with your friend...  
> Shorter chapter, featuring Victor, and a big talk.  
> Enjoy.

Okay. So Victor laughed at him.

Actually he started to a see a pattern here somewhere, like maybe he was laughing at him since the beginning of this whole mess.

Bruno didn’t actually know where to start this, so he just found himself rambling, about anything and everything while they shared a joint. He even got to tell Victor the Neverland theory. He said it’s not bad, but it clearly didn’t have as big an impact on him, as on Pablo. Well.

Bruno was just looking up at the stars, finishing off the joint. He didn’t speak for a while. It was a nice silence. Comfortable, familiar. But he wanted to talk to Victor, damn it…

“So… Like what’s up with your little boyfriend?” Victor started, with a lazy smile. _Here it goes…_

“Uh” Bruno scratched at the beard on his neck, and tried to get his thoughts together. “We are fine”

“So everything’s going according to the plan?” Victor smirked.

“Yeah” Bruno just looked at his hands, and sighed. “Actually, no. Not really” he conceded in the end.

“How so?”

Victor was nothing but patient, so Bruno knew, he would have to start talking, sooner or later. Victor pulled out a pack of cigarette, and offered him one.

He lit up.

Inhaling and blowing out the smoke somehow cleared his mind a bit.

“You know… it’s strange. I think we became friends somehow.”

“Well, that’s on the way to seducing him, isn’t it?”

“I’m just not sure. That I want to. Uh.” He concentrated on his cigarette for a while. “I think I like him.”

And Victor started to laugh. “Man, you are never easy to understand!”

“I mean I don’t _like him_ like him!” Bruno started a bit baffled, but he deflated quickly. _Or… Maybe just a little bit._

“I can’t believe it. You. And that sissy.”

“He’s not.” Bruno felt offended. “He’s just a guy. We just… click. He’s a friend. We talk about a lot of stuff.”

“Like?”

Bruno smiled a soft smile. “Neverland. And how it was being a kid.”

“Well. That’s … good? You have to decide what you want.”

“I don’t know.”

“How are you doing with the plan?”

“We… uh… kissed? That’s progress, isn’t it?”

Victor huffed out an almost embarrassed little laugh. “Was it good?”

“Nah.” he grinned. _Kinda. Maybe._ “It wasn’t a real kiss. Just a bit more than a peck. It was at mine, when Ana and Javier dropped by for some drinks. Last weekend. She basically dared us. But he didn’t sneaked out of it.”

“Neither did you” – pointed out Victor.

“No. There’s the plan, remember?” Bruno looked at his hands in his lap, and studied his nails for a moment, to get some time. “And maybe I was curious.”

“What? About how it would feel to kiss a guy?” Victor was trying not to laugh his ass off. Bruno knew he was trying hard. But his mirth was barely contained.

“No!” Bruno chewed at his lips, and blinked at his oldest friend. “I think, more like… how it would feel to kiss _him._ ”

“Shit, man. You sound smitten.”

He laughed it off. “Nah. It’s nothing like that. It’s just. He’s just a cool guy.”

“So, are you falling for him, or what?” asked Victor calmly.

“No, man!” replied Bruno fast, and loud, but he swallowed a distant echo inside that said _I… don’t know…_ He cautiously glanced up at Victor. He didn’t seem to be upset or judgemental, or anything. Well, that was a relief. “I think, I am a bit interested, that’s all. You know, like it’s an experiment or something.”

Victor laughed again, softer this time. “Never seen this mess coming. Ana has a big mouth on her though.” he added. “I actually heard about that kiss, I just didn’t really believe her at the time. I thought she was pulling my leg.”

Bruno was alarmed. “Jesus, she’s walking around telling this to everyone?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. She just knows that we are tight. But she also told me that…” he trailed off.

Bruno’s eyebrows climbed higher with every tense second. “What?”

“She woke up in the middle of the night, and she saw you two cuddling. She told me, you were all over him, half on top of him.”

“It was a small bed, okay, and there were the four of us. What did she expect?!”

“Calm down, man. It’s just what she told me. And you are a cuddler, aren’t you. It’s not that big of a surprise. Not that I haven’t woken up with you draped half over me before.”

Bruno huffed out a small laugh. No. No judgement here. Victor was practically his brother. Big burly man of soft smiles and teasing, and acceptance, and… he knew about the plan anyway. Yeah. He was his oldest friend. _Still nothing like Pablo._

“You know, we played the ‘what would you be if’ game too” it just slipped out of his mouth. He didn’t planned telling this to Victor. It was… kinda personal. He could blame it on the weed. Probably.

“So there’s still someone out there who would indulge you with those.” Victor smiled.

“Yeah, the last time you didn’t laugh at me was at least a decade ago, wasn’t it?” Bruno looked deep in thoughts, and just trailed off, that thick, familiar silence enveloping them again.

“Spill man, if you want. I was not trying to tease or anything.” He paused, and lit another cigarette. “If you don’t want to, that’s okay too. We could just grab another beer.”

“It’s only been what… three weeks since I’ve known him?” The words practically bubbled out of Bruno at this point. “And he gets it. He gets _me_. It’s weird.”

“Hm.” Victor didn’t interrupt, he just listened. Which was the best thing ever, and the worst, because it just urged him on, and he knew, he was spilling something that he wasn’t sure of yet, that was hard to wrap his head around. But Bruno plunged in, at the deep end.

“I asked him, what kind of toy he would be.”

The silence was more of a soft ever-present murmur of the city around them. A bit of traffic on the roads nearby, the soft hum of a television in someone’s apartment in the next building, the muffled crying of a baby somewhere, that soon stopped, probably his mommy picked him up or something.

“To show him, how it’s going I told him I would be a… a view-master.”

Victor was just looking at him silently, and lit up another cigarette. “Yeah, you loved those, as a kid. I remember.”

“It’s not just that.” Bruno smiled fondly at his friend. That’s why he stopped playing these with Victor. They connected more organically now, he didn’t need all these metaphors, and also he was quite aware, that Victor didn’t work that way. He was better with the straightforward stuff. “I told him this too, actually. That it’s… like... I love the idea, how you could see the world through my eyes differently. I don’t make any sense, I’m sure.”

“Nah, go on. It actually makes sense. For you, I guess.”

“So he looked at me, and… he just understood. He smiled, and he offered that he would be a little bucket and a scoop.”

Bruno was glad for the soft darkness. That it was night, and it was only the soft hues of the light pollution in the city that illuminated them, and the occasional sparkle of light in the end of their cigarettes. He was also glad that they already smoked, that he was in the same soft, and fuzzy state when your mind seems to sparkle, as he was when talking to Pablo that day. It helped. He didn’t feel as crazy because of all this somehow.

“And he would be. Because he’s a fucking artist.” Bruno smirked in the darkness.

“I don’t follow…” Victor grinned at him. ”Care to explain?”

“Yeah, okay. He told me, that it seemed like a less sophisticated toy. But I think it is just simpler. More straightforward. And that he would choose to be that because you can fill him up, and build things with him.”

“Hm.” Victor looked at the stars too. “Fill him up, yeah?”

They started sniggering, and it burst out of them, they were laughing so hard, someone in the neighbourhood shouted out their window to quiet them down.

“Ah, you dog, you animal” Bruno wheezed, still a bit out of breath. “Not like that.”

“You know what, man?” Victor’s eyes were glinting with mirth, and his voice was teasing. “Maybe he also meant it like that too. Maybe he wanted it to sound like that too.”

“What?” Bruno looked at Victor confused. That not enough brainpower to compute feeling revisiting him again.

“Jesus, Bruno. You set out to seduce the poor guy, and now you play surprised if he flirts back a bit?”

Bruno looked at him. He wasn’t sure if Victor was joking or not. He had to be pulling his leg. A small nervous laugh slipped out of him. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”

“I know. You never thought this whole stupid plan through, did you.”

“But I did.”

“No you didn’t. There was just never any chance that I could talk you out of this. You have a real thick skull, man.”

“So… you think, he’s flirting with me? That I am getting through to him?”

“Damn, man, I feel like my manliness drains away with every second of this conversation, but yes. Do you think every guy you meet and befriend would kiss you for a dare in a couple of weeks?”

“No. Not really.” Bruno felt calm. He felt a bit happy. He tried not to let it blossom in him. He would win him over. _Too early. Too late. He fucked it up._ “You know, I bought him with 20 pesos.”

“Come again?”

“A bucket and scoop. 20 pesos.”

“Kinky, huh?”

They laughed again.

“So, what would you do now?” Victor asked calmly. Bruno loved that. That Victor would always be calm, like the eye of the storm.

“I have seriously no idea, man.” He tried to calm his thoughts. _It feels like I made a huge mistake along the way. It looks like I will hurt him now, whatever I do. And I’m not sure that was part of the plan. Or it was. I’m not sure I want it to be anymore. “_ Yeah, I guess, I will just go along with the plan _”_ he smiled, trying for confident.

Victor looked at him, and Bruno thought for a second that he would say it. That he might call him on it, that Victor somehow knew what he never said out loud, and that Bruno would also hurt _himself_ in the process, but he didn’t have to. He didn’t have to spell it out.

“So just. Go with the flow, man. Or if you happen to get your brain cells back in order and decide to be friends, do some damage control, tell him. He sounds like a cool guy. Whatever. If you want him as a friend, maybe that could also work.”

“Yeah.” He was just not sure, that was entirely what was going on anymore. “Thanks, man.”

“You are welcome. And yeah, you could bring me another beer from the kitchen. I could use one after all this talking” Victor grinned.

“Sure.”

Bruno stretched as he got up, and walked towards the cooler. It didn’t seem less complicated, but somehow it still helped to talk it through. Also next time when they are out, Victor’s drinks are on him. That was a sure thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was on holiday and started writing again, and Bruno is not really cooperating, but I am exploring hte ideas how to proceed :)  
> I think I might put up another chapter during the week, as the next one is also shortish. Hopefully it will also urge me on with continuing the story :)
> 
> As always, comments are welcome, if you spot any mistakes, please point them out :)  
> *offers cookies to the kind readers*


	4. When you catch yourself lying to yourself...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruno has to face some truths and lies his's been telling himself

And then as the next week rolled around, everything got even more complicated (or more straightforward, and harder to pretend not to know what it actually was. Depends on the point of view).

Just this Monday afternoon he was sitting next to Pablo, waiting for Ana, they wanted to go out to the park, fool around… And suddenly Pablo gave him a bucket, and Bruno felt like he was bursting with happiness, embarrassed and glowing, completely off balance, and rambling about how he has two sets now, Pablo being his first… Complimenting him awkwardly… And Pablo’s face was glowing with some soft emotions that he didn’t really want to put a label on. It is working! ( _who was he kidding, he wanted to get lost in those eyes, bask in the light of that smile damn it_ ) And then Pablo just continued, saying those things, being inside this one, giving himself as a present ( _damn it, I want it all, damn you Pablo, run because I will hurt you, and I don’t want to, I want to keep you, and your stupid bucket, and your stupid smiles, how don’t you see I am bad for you?_ ) And Bruno’s mouth couldn’t shut up, because he couldn’t say it in so many words so he started another ‘what if’, soon finding himself - without any conscious control on what comes out of his mouth - promising Pablo to be the sand to his water ( _flowing, dark and mysterious, ever changing, source of life, breaking the light into thousand different rays like he does with that smile, it’s so fitting)_ to be the sand to his little bucket to build with, really. It’s a cliché really. But Pablo’s face lit up. It works. How is this so hard.

He was so aware of Pablo the whole afternoon. His presence, noted without having to look. His skin almost crackling with it, every time when they bumped shoulders, when they touched. And it was so easy. And Pablo would just fit right into his damn little dysfunctional group of friends, he would like them. He would laugh at Ana, sweet little crazy woman with that mouth on her, and joke around with Javier, and he just had to damn _fit right in_. And they liked Pablo too. ( _They never liked Laura, did they…)_ It was too good. It was too much.

Wednesday found him at Pablo’s place. Talking, watching a movie, crashing, sleeping next to each other ( _again, when did it become this natural_ ), without any embarrassment, just basking in it. Waking up, with Pablo gone, and rolling around, smelling him on the pillow, and drifting back to sleep ( _I don’t care, it is just nice, whatever it is. this is the smell of his skin, I can still feel the heat of his body seeping back from the mattress, I don’t care I want this, give me this before it all burns up_ ).

Then Friday evening again, going back to Pablo’s after the bar. Next to him on the bed. Comfortable. Normal.

This time Bruno woke up first in the morning. And he watched him. With morbid fascination, his fingers itching to touch the endless expanse of smooth skin on display ( _gorgeous, damn it when did he became gorgeous, when did it start to be okay to call him that_ ), but never going through with it, just basking in the sight, how peaceful he seemed in sleep. How relaxed. How trusting ( _don’t you know it, Pablo? Can’t you feel it? this…_ thing _building between us? how can you sleep like that, next to me, trusting, relaxing, not being afraid, you should be. because I don’t know what I want anymore. I wanted you to fall, I wanted to crush you. What do I want now?_ ).

They met almost every day now. He had slept at Pablo’s so many times, that now he knew how he looked the first thing in the morning, so out of his element, needing a jumpstart with a cup of coffee. Before that he was always all soft smiles and dazed eyes and tousled hair ( _it’s getting so much harder to keep his hands to himself, he wants to touch, he wants to connect, and he has no idea what to do_ ). The soft non-committal sounds that slipped out of Pablo’s mouth, the small mmmh that would translate as ‘thank you for the coffee, you are awesome’, in Bruno’s mind.

He wanted to be there and bring that damn coffee every damn morning.

And that was really scary on its own.

That morning, when he almost gave in, almost made a move, standing so close to him, Pablo just out of bed, so out of it still, and they were standing so close, almost touching, he felt his cock stir as they swayed towards each other, and he didn’t have time to care, to be scared, to overanalyse, he needed to touch… And then ‘ _who’s the taller’_ , a ruse again, coward, that he is, but still, his fingers were spreading out on Pablo’s ribcage, just for a second, stealing its warmth, connecting. Pablo so trusting, and supple under his touch, his face soft and open, he could have kissed him then, and probably Pablo would have kissed him back. A win. But he was a coward, or maybe he didn’t want to take advantage of him, or whatever. That’s a nicer way to put it.

But his skin was itching the whole day, going about his day, doing shopping, laundry, meeting up with Victor, which was nice except it was daylight, and no joints and Victor’s mum was tending to her flowers right next to them, so they talked about work, the new movies coming out, and all this jumble of feelings were stuck in him, never voiced.

“You okay? Other ways?” Victor asked, and looked at him with a strange fond look.

“I think so. He’s coming to mine tonight.”

And Victor just nodded, acknowledging that indeed he was asking about _them_ , and that was strange.

“Take care, buddy” was all that Victor said and patted Bruno’s shoulders with his large hands, before he pulled himself up to go home.

And his skin was crawling with it, the _need,_ at the time Pablo arrived, and his mouth run away with him, and that stupid idea with the casting resurfaced, and he went all in. Pablo was a bit flustered, but his eyes were open and trusting, letting him see, the turmoil, of _no, wrong, but I kinda want it, and what the fuck are we doing anyway?_ And it was like they had two conversations. The lies. That he was sure they both somehow knew were _lies_ slipping out their mouths, and their eyes saying something else entirely.

_Maybe I want to kiss you. Can I?_

_I am afraid, because I want it too… Don’t hurt me._

And then Pablo had to go, and brake the rule, and _voiced_ something true. How _brave_ is he, anyway?

_“If I did it, I would do it because I like you.”_

It hit Bruno hard in the chest. Pablo rambled on, but it was out there. _If I do it now,_ when _I do it now, it means that I like you, it’s not because your stupid casting._ And Bruno smiled, and pushed, and cajoled, and trembled inside, he needed this, he needed this so bad. He needed to win. (Or _he needed his lips on his own.)_ And they were laughing, equal times embarrassed and aroused, swaying towards each other, wanting the pretending to end, to snap out of it, for it just to be okay.

_I don’t remember the other day – what a dirty little liar are you Bruno? He couldn’t forget if he wanted to._

The atmosphere shifted, pushing them away from each other, less giddy, more coherent, voicing some stuff about friendship, how do they see this, and still, Pablo didn’t say no. He said he liked him. Didn’t want to lose him. And he never actually said _no_. Bruno thought he was just biding his time, trying to make sure it is not a mistake. But he knew he would give in.

And suddenly he felt like going back on his word and telling him, telling Pablo – I was kidding, there’s no casting, I just want this, because I like you too, and I really really hope you want this too – telling him everything – I don’t want to hurt you, I made some pretty shitty decisions, and I have no idea how I could make it right, but I would do anything to do that.

Then Pablo was snapping at him, cutting with sarcasm, with his ‘would we do this every afternoon or what?’ ( _And_ _oh how he wished. And a maybe slips out of his mouth, cutting with sarcasm. Two can play that game. Somewhere deep down he almost wishes he had more courage and made his voice more sincere, let him hear, let him see…_ )

And then it was happening. Something just gave, the barriers snapped, and they were staring at each other, Bruno was very conscious about Pablo’s eyes sweeping down to his lips, and _damn those chewing gums, but I didn’t want to kiss you with bad breath, because I want to taste you this time_ , and then…

They were swaying closer, eyes drifting closed, mouths meeting, tasting, the feeling of Pablo’s tongue on his an explosion in him, a burst of _right, need it, mine._

He didn’t dare to touch. If he had lifted up his hands, his fingers would curl into Pablo’s hair, and he would never let go, and that would be a problem, so all of his being was focused on that one tiny magical connection of Pablo’s lips on his, chasing his taste, feeling intoxicated even after the too short seconds of the whole business.

His brain went offline for a bit.

The silence after the kiss was so heavy, he could have cut it with a knife. He was really afraid something would snap. He couldn’t look at Pablo. He was still busy trying to stay on his feet, and cataloguing the rush, the power _(the feelings, the taste…)_

And then suddenly they were just back at their banter, Bruno unconsciously blowing his cower with the fucking stupid casting pretty obviously.

But Pablo didn’t call him on it. He was nice like that. Or maybe he was afraid too.

And he still managed to pull it all down on Bruno. He felt as if the floor was starting to slip out from under him, and the walls coming down. _No. Liar. How. You slept with a man. That’s why this whole shit started. You liar._

And then there were more lies slipping out of Bruno’s mouth, playing it down, ‘Yeah, I’ve done it’. Not a big deal. _OH my god. What have I done. What the fuck did you do to me? What have I done to you? Jesus this is crazy. He must be lying. But why would he?_

Bruno felt shattered.

And in his moment of imbalance he had nothing else to do than to hurt him. To not believe him. He saw it in his face that it hurt him. That it hurt him bad. But he couldn’t do anything else. He wasn’t strong enough to take it back.

He fucked up again.

And Pablo went home that night, after all. No surprise there.

He wasn’t staying. He wasn’t sharing his bed. He wasn’t laughing with him, neither looking at him with that adoring smile damn it. They won’t be watching a movie sitting next to each other, their shoulders brushing together. Connecting them. Not today. Maybe not ever.

He looked at his ceiling for a long time before he was able to fall asleep.

He pretended the tears were never there.

He pretended he could make this all go away.

Then he laughed a bitter, scrawny little laugh when he realized it’s not going away, because the show must go on ( _and he wouldn’t want it to end anyway_ ). He needs to fix this. At least he has to try.


End file.
